It's uneventful news to you, but a source of great relief to me, that I've completed the first draft of my next book. It is awful, as first drafts uniformly are, but from now on it's all a matter of revision. It's a big step on to a lower grade of climb. I am pleased.
All TV this month. Not that all I did was watch TV, but there were three significant finales this month. I did tons of chores, many frustrating, some rather icky. I'll spare you the discussion of those. You're welcome.
[TV] Endgame of Thrones
[TV] The Last Big Bang
[TV] Deadwood Epilogue
Friday, June 07, 2019
[TV] Endgame of Thrones
Folks are generally critical on the final season, and the finale in particular, and so am I, but perhaps not as much as others. Although the narrative fearlessness slacked and fan service grew after they ran out of book material to work from, at least they never lost sight of the timeless thread. Dani overcomes adversity and wages war for good and justice, which turns out to be a not so clean and noble an activity. She does damage, causes harm, imposes her will -- it can't be helped. She gets used to power, grows enthralled with herself. Then when push comes to shove, the principles become an excuse for power as opposed to the reverse. She becomes what every well-intentioned crusader becomes given enough time -- a tyrant.
The lesson: the only ones who are worthy to lead are those who don't want to. It's an old story. It is central to the myth of America's founding, but not uniquely by any means. It is what's forgotten by every socialist dreamer an starry-eyed revolutionary. It is a curse on civilization. Kudos for keeping that theme front and center, when I'm sure there were enormous temptations to build simple and easy good guys and bad guys and construct a fair and just comeuppance for all. That, as opposed to anything else, is the thing, along with the top notch cinematography and effects, that makes the show a cut above.
But the complaints are many and valid. Some of the story arcs took rather abrupt turns in the final two episodes -- Jaime suddenly deciding he was hateful after all; the Hound deciding his only reason for living was to kill his hated brother -- all despite years of character development. Honestly it felt like the War with the Night King could have been a six episode season in itself, as could the war for the Iron Throne. Maybe absent George R.R. Martin the writer's room went from pursuing the characters and their individual cruelties to barrelling into a defined ending and simply closing off the main threads, plot holes be damned. I'm all in favor of efficient narratives, especially if you've run out of creative ideas, but wedging each war into a single episode seemed like a bit of a shortchanging. Then of course there were the famous beverage scandals: the Starbucks cup and the bottle of water. Maybe they had all just had enough and wanted it over with.
(This may be the only time I have ever suggested a work of fiction should have been longer than it was.)
In any case, it falls well short of the TV pantheon. I doubt I will rewatch it, but it is now seared into our culture and that is no small achievement.
The lesson: the only ones who are worthy to lead are those who don't want to. It's an old story. It is central to the myth of America's founding, but not uniquely by any means. It is what's forgotten by every socialist dreamer an starry-eyed revolutionary. It is a curse on civilization. Kudos for keeping that theme front and center, when I'm sure there were enormous temptations to build simple and easy good guys and bad guys and construct a fair and just comeuppance for all. That, as opposed to anything else, is the thing, along with the top notch cinematography and effects, that makes the show a cut above.
But the complaints are many and valid. Some of the story arcs took rather abrupt turns in the final two episodes -- Jaime suddenly deciding he was hateful after all; the Hound deciding his only reason for living was to kill his hated brother -- all despite years of character development. Honestly it felt like the War with the Night King could have been a six episode season in itself, as could the war for the Iron Throne. Maybe absent George R.R. Martin the writer's room went from pursuing the characters and their individual cruelties to barrelling into a defined ending and simply closing off the main threads, plot holes be damned. I'm all in favor of efficient narratives, especially if you've run out of creative ideas, but wedging each war into a single episode seemed like a bit of a shortchanging. Then of course there were the famous beverage scandals: the Starbucks cup and the bottle of water. Maybe they had all just had enough and wanted it over with.
(This may be the only time I have ever suggested a work of fiction should have been longer than it was.)
In any case, it falls well short of the TV pantheon. I doubt I will rewatch it, but it is now seared into our culture and that is no small achievement.
[TV] The Last Big Bang
Contra Game of Thrones, Big Bang Theory went out with barely a whisper, although I think it is no less ingrained into our culture. The end was a simple farewell. No great revelations or changes, the very last image was the group eating dinner in the same spot along the couch as they always had.
BBT started out as a nerd culture darling, and lived long enough to become unfashionable. It succeeded over the years for two reasons -- first: exceptionally sensitive and professional writing. They never talked down to the audience. And they did not delude themselves that it could be the story of four nerds forever. They evolved very skillfully into what became a Friends clone. This was widely derided but, as someone on another sitcom once pointed out, you gotta have somewhere for the characters to go. Especially if you are going to crank out 20-ish episodes a year for 12 years. What I'm saying is, this was a master class in TV writing professionalism, compromises and all.
The second thing it had was the unparalleled comedic capabilities of the regular ensemble. Even when the writers fell short, these folks could provide a delivery that killed. Some of that is natural, but some of it is also hard work and diligent effort. I suspect they all spent a lot of time in front of the mirror with their scripts, or possibly drove their loved ones crazy with requests to read lines. Notice how many characters were introduced over the years only to be discarded after a few episodes. These are the ones who looked promising in casting, but when the heat was on, they couldn't keep up with the regulars.
It is unfashionable to say so, but I think BBT's reputation will grow in the upcoming years. I know of at least four instances of people who came to it late, stumbling on a rerun, then devoted themselves to catching up on all the seasons they missed. (One of those is me.) You can do that, because TBS reruns about four episodes every night during prime time. And the fact that they continue to do that after many years suggests that those four people aren't the only ones late to the party.
Well done all around.
BBT started out as a nerd culture darling, and lived long enough to become unfashionable. It succeeded over the years for two reasons -- first: exceptionally sensitive and professional writing. They never talked down to the audience. And they did not delude themselves that it could be the story of four nerds forever. They evolved very skillfully into what became a Friends clone. This was widely derided but, as someone on another sitcom once pointed out, you gotta have somewhere for the characters to go. Especially if you are going to crank out 20-ish episodes a year for 12 years. What I'm saying is, this was a master class in TV writing professionalism, compromises and all.
The second thing it had was the unparalleled comedic capabilities of the regular ensemble. Even when the writers fell short, these folks could provide a delivery that killed. Some of that is natural, but some of it is also hard work and diligent effort. I suspect they all spent a lot of time in front of the mirror with their scripts, or possibly drove their loved ones crazy with requests to read lines. Notice how many characters were introduced over the years only to be discarded after a few episodes. These are the ones who looked promising in casting, but when the heat was on, they couldn't keep up with the regulars.
It is unfashionable to say so, but I think BBT's reputation will grow in the upcoming years. I know of at least four instances of people who came to it late, stumbling on a rerun, then devoted themselves to catching up on all the seasons they missed. (One of those is me.) You can do that, because TBS reruns about four episodes every night during prime time. And the fact that they continue to do that after many years suggests that those four people aren't the only ones late to the party.
Well done all around.
[TV] Deadwood Epilogue
I am not disappointed. But in truth, it is not the Deadwood I remember. How could it be given only a couple of hours to work with thanks to HBO's feckless programming? Regarding high concepts, the Deadwood movie is negligible, essentially a repeat of season 3 where the death of an admired local at the hands of George Hearst coalesces the townsfolk into heroic defiance. One of the things that raised Deadwood (the series) to the level of great art was the magnificent original theme of how civilization emerges from barbarism, how cultural institutions grow out of brutal anarchy. That theme is not touched in any meaningful way. It's been done. Deadwood is no longer anarchy (although still the wild west) and they are already unified against Hearst when he reappears on the eve of statehood for South Dakota, this time as a Senator, seeking, as always, more treasure.
So, no, the big theme shining a light on humanity is not on display, instead we get the beautiful character arcs, elegantly completed under horrible constraints of time. The time allowed for a single movie. The time before David Milch succumbs to dementia.
Seth Bullock, now a U.S. Marshall, is still keeping law and order. He has settled into a comfortable domestic life with his wife and three children. He is a civilized man now, but that state will be tested once again by Hearst. The Hearst victim is Charlie Utter this time. And it kicks off a spiral of Bullock sinking back into the savage ways of old. Vengeful, violent, and doubly upended by the sudden reappearance of Alma, the body count rises. In the end, when given the choice to defend Hearst against a mob or let vigilante justice reign, he is tempted to let the mob have its way, only siding with law after the sight of his wife and kids looking on with horror. Bullock is tempted to savagery and saved by the institution of family.
Timothy Olyphant is also given the most moving scene. When talking with the terrified, possibly mortally injured, man who was witness to Charlie Utter's murder, he finds out that Charlie likely died a happy man and quotes Scripture about how despite our flaws, we are all God's Witnesses. In the face of this information, Seth Bullock comes to tears. And here, in many ways, we see the brilliance of Milch. There is no direct explanation of why, after a lifetime of churning events, Bullock is finally touched. Is it sorrow for Charlie and all the others who've been lost? Is it for his inability to have protected the innocent? Is it gratitude for his life and his turn as one of God's Witnesses? We don't know why, perhaps we'll pick a reason that appeals to us, but we know his tears ring so very true.
Trixie gets a redemption arc. She's still with Sol and is now pregnant, resisting getting married because (paraphrasing) it's enough of a miracle that a whore of her vintage is pregnant. In other words, she is still of a mind that she is not worthy of good things. She is also deeply haunted by her continued existence as it is dependent entirely on an innocent being murdered in her place. Trixie being Trixie (as Al would say, a loopy f*ckin' c*nt) this guilt and fear is expressed as foul-mouthed rage and she let's Hearst have it in public loud and clear and filthy, effectively revealing herself as the one who shot him years ago, and thereby giving Hearst yet more leverage. In combination with the birth of her son and the looming threat of Hearst's revenge, she breaks down about her guilt to Al, who is in no condition to help, and in this act finds a way to turn her guilt and anger to a constructive end. She decides if she is going out, she is going out honest to herself. The marriage of her and Sol is for her an act of defiance. She even offers a truce to Hearst when he interrupts her wedding. And although not entirely clear, it looks like she is going to end up running the Gem and probably cleaning it up.
Jane, though on a secondary arc has a similar journey, her self-doubt and it's accompanying alcoholism has kept her moving all these years. Now she's back to get closure with Joanie and meet her end where Wild Bill is laid to rest. She finds that Joanie went on a parallel track of escape through different means. She gets involved in the battle against Hearst in memory of her old friend Charlie Utter, and in fact, gets to be the one who saves the day through heroic action. She passes off her heroism as the spirit of Wild Bill acting through her, but Joanie is there to tell her that is was her -- that she is the hero, and in that act they are both redeemed.
Lastly, we have Al. Al is lost to us, and himself. He aided the town's move towards civilization, then civilization outran him to Statehood. He has only a small role to play in the dramatic action of the movie, whereas he used to be a prime mover. All he can muster in the face of Hearst the Senator are some poetic insults. His liver is shot and his memory is dicey. He, like Trixie, is haunted by the memory of the murder that saved Deadwood, but for him that is probably just one of many such acts. No, what haunts Al the most is the realization that after all the years and abuse and betrayal, he has feelings for Trixie -- fatherly feelings. Whatever sort of monster he was in his life, he ended up human and gained at least a small measure of forgiveness. (At this point the viewer must be on guard against a misguided, Sopranos-esque sympathy for a familiar evil.)
Al faces death by hoping not to delay the inevitable "I'd not prolong the chewing up, nor the spittin out," and so defies Doc Cochrane's orders to quit drinking. He does what he can to help against Hearst, but he can't do much, it's up to civilization to police itself. He has to be happy to make the most of what little capability he has left, including the proper disposal of his assets upon his death. In the end he finishes the first stanza of the Lord's Prayer -- "Our Father, which art in Heaven" -- with "Let Him f*cking stay there." Is that Al or Milch talking?
Deadwood the series ended at the right time for the wrong reason. It is, I think, going to be remembered as one of the profound and enduring works of art from our time. Deadwood the movie does not achieve that height nor does it seek to; it is a warm and gratifying epilogue. We end with Hearst in jail, Trixie and Saul married, Jane coupled with Joanie, and Bullock a happy family man. We know this happiness is fragile as glass. We know Hearst will find release and do God knows what in revenge. But we also no there will be no stopping civilization. Deadwood the movie cements Milch's optimistic vision of justice with compromise. May his ending be as happy.
So, no, the big theme shining a light on humanity is not on display, instead we get the beautiful character arcs, elegantly completed under horrible constraints of time. The time allowed for a single movie. The time before David Milch succumbs to dementia.
Seth Bullock, now a U.S. Marshall, is still keeping law and order. He has settled into a comfortable domestic life with his wife and three children. He is a civilized man now, but that state will be tested once again by Hearst. The Hearst victim is Charlie Utter this time. And it kicks off a spiral of Bullock sinking back into the savage ways of old. Vengeful, violent, and doubly upended by the sudden reappearance of Alma, the body count rises. In the end, when given the choice to defend Hearst against a mob or let vigilante justice reign, he is tempted to let the mob have its way, only siding with law after the sight of his wife and kids looking on with horror. Bullock is tempted to savagery and saved by the institution of family.
Timothy Olyphant is also given the most moving scene. When talking with the terrified, possibly mortally injured, man who was witness to Charlie Utter's murder, he finds out that Charlie likely died a happy man and quotes Scripture about how despite our flaws, we are all God's Witnesses. In the face of this information, Seth Bullock comes to tears. And here, in many ways, we see the brilliance of Milch. There is no direct explanation of why, after a lifetime of churning events, Bullock is finally touched. Is it sorrow for Charlie and all the others who've been lost? Is it for his inability to have protected the innocent? Is it gratitude for his life and his turn as one of God's Witnesses? We don't know why, perhaps we'll pick a reason that appeals to us, but we know his tears ring so very true.
Trixie gets a redemption arc. She's still with Sol and is now pregnant, resisting getting married because (paraphrasing) it's enough of a miracle that a whore of her vintage is pregnant. In other words, she is still of a mind that she is not worthy of good things. She is also deeply haunted by her continued existence as it is dependent entirely on an innocent being murdered in her place. Trixie being Trixie (as Al would say, a loopy f*ckin' c*nt) this guilt and fear is expressed as foul-mouthed rage and she let's Hearst have it in public loud and clear and filthy, effectively revealing herself as the one who shot him years ago, and thereby giving Hearst yet more leverage. In combination with the birth of her son and the looming threat of Hearst's revenge, she breaks down about her guilt to Al, who is in no condition to help, and in this act finds a way to turn her guilt and anger to a constructive end. She decides if she is going out, she is going out honest to herself. The marriage of her and Sol is for her an act of defiance. She even offers a truce to Hearst when he interrupts her wedding. And although not entirely clear, it looks like she is going to end up running the Gem and probably cleaning it up.
Jane, though on a secondary arc has a similar journey, her self-doubt and it's accompanying alcoholism has kept her moving all these years. Now she's back to get closure with Joanie and meet her end where Wild Bill is laid to rest. She finds that Joanie went on a parallel track of escape through different means. She gets involved in the battle against Hearst in memory of her old friend Charlie Utter, and in fact, gets to be the one who saves the day through heroic action. She passes off her heroism as the spirit of Wild Bill acting through her, but Joanie is there to tell her that is was her -- that she is the hero, and in that act they are both redeemed.
Lastly, we have Al. Al is lost to us, and himself. He aided the town's move towards civilization, then civilization outran him to Statehood. He has only a small role to play in the dramatic action of the movie, whereas he used to be a prime mover. All he can muster in the face of Hearst the Senator are some poetic insults. His liver is shot and his memory is dicey. He, like Trixie, is haunted by the memory of the murder that saved Deadwood, but for him that is probably just one of many such acts. No, what haunts Al the most is the realization that after all the years and abuse and betrayal, he has feelings for Trixie -- fatherly feelings. Whatever sort of monster he was in his life, he ended up human and gained at least a small measure of forgiveness. (At this point the viewer must be on guard against a misguided, Sopranos-esque sympathy for a familiar evil.)
Al faces death by hoping not to delay the inevitable "I'd not prolong the chewing up, nor the spittin out," and so defies Doc Cochrane's orders to quit drinking. He does what he can to help against Hearst, but he can't do much, it's up to civilization to police itself. He has to be happy to make the most of what little capability he has left, including the proper disposal of his assets upon his death. In the end he finishes the first stanza of the Lord's Prayer -- "Our Father, which art in Heaven" -- with "Let Him f*cking stay there." Is that Al or Milch talking?
Deadwood the series ended at the right time for the wrong reason. It is, I think, going to be remembered as one of the profound and enduring works of art from our time. Deadwood the movie does not achieve that height nor does it seek to; it is a warm and gratifying epilogue. We end with Hearst in jail, Trixie and Saul married, Jane coupled with Joanie, and Bullock a happy family man. We know this happiness is fragile as glass. We know Hearst will find release and do God knows what in revenge. But we also no there will be no stopping civilization. Deadwood the movie cements Milch's optimistic vision of justice with compromise. May his ending be as happy.
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